and i will try to fix you
by thelilacfield
Summary: lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones. various pairings, for mor and mew
1. infinity (nevillevictoire)

So, you may have heard of the amazing **Mew and Mor's Weird Pairings**. If you haven't, get yourself over to the forum and take a look around.

Mew and Mor inspired me to begin this drabble collection, which will feature all of their pairings and one of my own ;)

So, Mew (**mew-tsubaki**) and Mor (**Morghen**), this one's for you :)

Lyrics in the title and summary are from _Fix You _by Coldplay.

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><p><span>and i will try to fix you<span>

one: infinity

She's beautiful, her starshine-bright hair flowing like water down her back and her eyes conveying all the innocence of a young child.

He's seen her sneak glances at him - in Herbology class, in the corridors, in the Great Hall, in the grounds - more times than there are stars in the skies.

But it's as forbidden as love between a Malfoy and a Weasley, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, an Auror and a Death Eater.

He's old and weary, he's suffered so much, he's lost so many people. She's young and energetic, she's had a blessed life, she's never had to lose anyone she cares about.

She kisses him beneath the mistletoe in a deserted corridor and he bares his soul for her, letting her touch raise him up.

Tears bloom in her eyes when he runs and leaves her standing alone with marks on her collarbone and her shirt buttoned wrong.

He watches her dance with a thousand other boys at the Yule Ball, missing her and loving her and wanting her with ever step she takes, every swirl of her elegant gown, every laugh that leaves her plump lips.

So he meets her in the rose bushes beneath the curious stars and kisses her in seventeen different ways. Hard, soft, loving, hating, tender, bruising, gentle, passionate, heated, frozen, sweet, sour, apologising, begging, longingly, wrongly and rightly.

If the stars that watch their romance can go on for infinity, so can they.

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><p>I hope you enjoyed this :D<p>

If you like this enough to favourite, please don't do so without reviewing, thanks! :)


	2. howling (siriuspoppy)

and i will try to fix you

two: howling

She shivers slightly and pulls her cardigan closer around her as the moonlight knifes through the window and her eyes automatically move to the swaying tree a shade darker than the night sky.

The doors creak open and she turns to sigh heavily as an all-too familiar face grins at her.

"What is it this time, Mr. Black?" she asks. His gorgeo- _infuriating _grin won't leave his face as he holds up his arm and shows her the wrist dangling limply. "Did you punch Mr. Snape too hard again?"

"This time he _really _deserved it," he tells her with wild laughter dancing in his eyes. "He tried to snog Lily." She just sighs and fumbles through the depths of her pockets for her wand, having heard this story many a-time.

"Thanks, Miss P." He rotates his healed wrist a few times and tosses his tangled hair out of his eyes.

They both jump as the mournful howling of a werewolf echoes from the grounds.

"It won't ever get better for him, will it?" Sirius asks with an unusual sadness in his eyes. She follows his gaze out of the window and up to the perfectly round moon, those mournful cries still echoing in her ears.

"I'm afraid not," she explains with something like tears threatening to overwhelm her.

He spends the rest of the night resting against her, listening to the howling and crying softly into her shoulder.

* * *

><p>Okay, so this was more friendshiploosely implied romance

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this :D Credit to Mew and Mor again :)

If you like this enough to favourite, please don't do so without reviewing, thanks! :)


	3. imperfect (seamuscho)

and i will try to fix you

three: imperfect

To anyone on the outside looking in she might seem to have the perfect life.

How wrong they all are. Her life is quite possibly as far from perfect as anything could ever get.

They whisper behind their hands, giggle at the crying, the swollen eyes, the constantly mournful expression. She tries to present a brave front to the world, but sometimes her masks crumble and she just weeps for the losses they've suffered.

"So then me mam said that he's completely loony and I should just ignore him an' _I _said…"

She looks up at the sound of a loud voice and sees a boy she vaguely recognises as being that Irish boy who shares a dormitory with Harry.

"Why are you crying?" he asks. His friend leaves them alone and gravitates towards the shelves of books on Muggles.

"I'm just a little fragile at the moment," she whispers. "My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know all about _your _story," he interrupts, waving his hand. "Cedric died and left you wallowing in grief and then you dated Harry but he chose Hermione over you. Oh, woe! Oh, angst!" He raises a hand to his forehead and pretends to faint melodramatically. She scowls at him.

"How dare you make light of my situation?" she shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You don't know what it's _like_."

"Shut your mouth!" he bellows. "I know exactly what it's like. Remember Marietta, your so-called 'friend'? We were dating and she was killed. You should check your facts before accusing people, Miss Chang." He spits her name with more venom than she would have thought possible. She draws herself up to her full height and begins formulating a bitingly witty reply.

And then his lips are claiming her in a kiss heated by fire and anger and burning passion. Her hands mesh in his hair and his hand glides over every inch of her body and she trembles with the sheer force of his kiss.

She's imperfect, he's imperfect, but together they're perfection.

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><p>I hope you enjoyed this :D Credit to Mew and Mor again :)<p>

If you like this enough to favourite, please don't do so without reviewing, thanks! :)


	4. monster (narcissahagrid)

and i will try to fix you

four: monster

A light knock rains down on his front door. He tosses a tartan blanket across the creature beneath his bed and peers through the knothole at eye-height to see familiar blonde hair dancing on the wind and glassy blue eyes peering beseechingly up at him.

"What'll be this mornin', Miss Black?" he asks. "Cup o' tea? Rock cake?"

"Hagrid, I…I've decided something," she said, sliding primly into one of the crudely carved chairs, wrapping her little hands around her large mug. "I'm not going to marry Lucius."

"Narcissa, as I understand it, yer family arranged this marriage for yer own good," he said. "Yeh mus' marry him, it's against pureblood law to break off an arranged marriage."

"I'll run away!" she exclaimed, stars shining in her eyes. "I've always wanted to live somewhere warm and sunny!"

"Why don' you want to marry him?" he asks, determined to find out the full story before judging.

"He's evil!" she screams, fat tears sliding down her flawless cheeks. "He's going to join the Dark Lord!"

"He won'," he lies. "Go back up to the castle and apologise to him."

He watches her go with an icy cold settling over his heart. She might look innocent, but there is evil deep within the blackness of her soul.

Only monsters call You-Know-Who the Dark Lord.

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><p>I hope you enjoyed this :D Apologies it was more friendshipimplied romance again.

Credit to Mew and Mor again :)

If you like this enough to favourite, please don't do so without reviewing, thanks! :)


	5. inspired (gabrielleoliver)

and i will try to fix you

five: inspired

Magic always inspired her. She fought tirelessly to capture the red and gold sparks of spells, the lustrous varied blues of the banners at Beauxbatons, the glowing amber eyes of an owl, the majestic giant flying horses tugging a carriage behind them above the school.

The dragons she went to after her final year at Beauxbatons only succeeded in her wanting, _needing_, to push her boundaries further and capture the majesty and elegance and ferocity of these beautiful beasts on camera.

The first time she hand-fed an orphaned baby Welsh Green - receiving a nasty cut to the shoulder for her troubles - the happy daze lasted a week. When she succeeded in feeding massive chunks of meat to an injured Chinese Firebolt, it lasted a fortnight. She stayed up late to hear the cheeping of hatching baby dragons and the daze lasted a full month.

But flying on the back of a Ukrainian Longhorn, the hands of one of the younger trainees on her waist, the fierce wind whipping tears into her eyes, she had never felt to free. It was almost as if she could reach up and stir the pearly grey clouds that seemed to be a permanent fixture above the sanctuary.

She met him for the first time in the market, feeling once again that scared little girl, speaking none of the language and trying to hide away beneath the forest green hood of her cloak. A strong, warm hand closed on hers and he asked her in a voice that evoked images of majestic woodland and endless heather-carpeted moors what she was looking for.

The kiss happened an entire month later, trapped in a cave by an injured dragon. He tasted of freedom, his touch as light as the rain that caressed their skin like a returning lover.

Gabrielle Delacour fell in love three times in her life: first, with photography. Secondly, with dragons. Finally and hopelessly, with Oliver Wood.


	6. opposition (emmelinerabastan)

and i will try to fix you

chapter six: opposition

Albus Dumbledore always liked to stir up a little healthy competition between his students. With Quidditch matches becoming the life of the house rivalries, it was no wonder the competitive spirit easily slipped into chess, duelling and even Gobstones.

Of course, it was inevitable that, come seventh year, a great prank war would begin, with tension mounting high between Slytherin and Gryffindor after a prank involving invisible clothes towards the Gryffindors from the Slytherins and one that involved sixteen Slytherins turning into red and gold lions, courtesy of the Gryffindors.

Emmeline bitterly regretted ever becoming involved when, courtesy of Bellatrix Black, the staircase she was ascending turned to a smooth slide beneath her feet and she broke her nose and badly sprained her ankle sliding down. No one commented when several flying bogies suddenly attacked Bellatrix, courtesy most likely of Fabian Prewett.

"There you are, Miss Vance," Madam Pomfrey said, having mended both her injuries. "I believe there's a rather charming young man waiting outside to see you."

Emmeline rolled her eyes when confronted outside with Rabastan Lestrange, a member of the snaky opposition. He also happened to be in possession of heart-stopping looks and incredible charm.

"I apologise, Miss Vance," he said with a smooth grin. "My future sister-in-law can be a tad fierce in her retaliations. To make it up to you, perhaps I might take you out?"

"Dream on, Lestrange," Emmeline said crossly, haughtily tossing back her dark hair. He grabbed her wrist and attempted to force a kiss onto her.

No one commented when Rabastan spent the rest of the week yelling in pain as small yellow birds attacked him at awkward moments or when Emmeline had green and silver hair for the next month.


	7. clouds (lysanderfleur)

and i will try to fix you

chapter seven: clouds

The clouds drift lazily above him. He almost envies them. They are unaffected by feelings. They never feel lust, nor passion, nor pain. Clouds simply provide beauty to those who choose to watch them, living their easy, drifting lives. How he longs to be free like them, drifting far above the agonies of the real world, flying away, far away.

Plus, clouds have beautiful names; cirrus, stratus, cumulus…so beautiful. There's poetry up there among the pearly grey or wispy white. Clouds sometimes yield raindrops, snowflakes or hailstones and they are things of beauty. When light bends through a raindrop, creating rainbows, or a snowflake is picked out against black wool or hailstones bounce across the ground, it's a thing of beauty. And when sheets of crackling lightning bounce between the clouds, he's never seen anything so beautiful.

Only one person ever shared his fascination with clouds and now she is gone, through his own stupid faults. He's always been a perfectionist and kept a list of his faults so he could strive to correct. Over time, it's shortened from a total of seventy-two faults when he was fourteen to thirty-seven now, when he's twenty-five. But one fault he's never been able to correct is his big mouth. He's always been truthful and sometimes the truth hurts, right?

But _oh_, how he wishes he could take back everything he said, those cruel words that flew in venom from his tongue before he could pull himself away from the conflict. The words still stick in his throat, honed to sharp points that pierce the tender skin. He can't fly with the clouds because the weight of what he has done weighs him down.

Fleur is gone, taking her delicate scent and gentle passion and _sparkleshimmershine _with her. She's gone, leaving behind a locket containing pictures of happier times and leaving a bunch of red roses to die.

Leaving him with nothing but broken dreams and haunted eyes.

Ah yes, how he wishes to join the clouds.


	8. juxtaposition (charliebellatrix)

and i will try to fix you

chapter eight: juxtaposition

A tongue of golden flames bursts forth, blasting him with hot air and sending several trees into inferno. The trainees dash forward, casting their charms and steering the jets of water into the flames. Only the very senior dragon trainers are allowed to deal with angry dragons. Unfortunately for Charlie, that includes him.

The flames perform their angry dance around their knot, greedily sucking the oxygen from the air. The jets of water are no help, turning to steam as soon as the heat blasted them. Fighting down the urge to scream and swear at the incompetent trainees, Charlie gestures to Todd and, together, they beat the flames away with a cold air charm while Vladimir and William subdued the irate nesting mother.

"Charlie, come for a drink with us tonight!" Todd shouts as Charlie changes his singed shirt and combed ashes out of his hair. "We're going to try and pick up some local girls." Vladimir winks and William raises his glass of amber whisky. Grinning, Charlie shakes his head.

"Gotta Floo my mum, tell her I haven't been killed by crazy dragons yet," he says wryly. "Maybe next week." They just shake their heads and roll their eyes, toasting to exhilarating life and burning dragons and debating the issue of his sexuality.

One thing his mother was always fond of was juxtaposition in discipline. Placing something good and something bad side-by-side, in order to highlight their differences.

They're entirely opposite. He's a fiery Gryffindor, fighting for the chance to free wizards and witches from the tyrants who rule with iron fist, perfectly sane and young, with a whole life ahead of him. She's a cool Slytherin, fighting for the belief in her Master's law of existence, balancing just on the edge of insanity and beginning to realize her own mortality.

Yet they are drawn together, the ultimate example of _opposites attract_. They find themselves kissing desperately, tearing at each other's clothes, succumbing to humankind's most primal desire, falling into each other on the dark moors and collapsing as one with blurred vision and names dying on their lips.

Juxtaposition is all it really is. When he runs his hand through her tangle of wild dark hair and she gazes into his clear blue eyes, it's just a case of opposites attract.

Except it's not. It's love and there is nothing either can do about it.

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><p>Welp, I officially love these two ;) There's certainly some chemistry there :)<p>

Credit to Mew and Mor! :3

Please don't favourite without reviewing, thanks :D


	9. demon (lorcanvictoire)

and i will try to fix you

chapter nine: demon

"I'll snog her, shag her, snog her, run like the wind from her," James muttered, looking around the dark club filled with writhing bodies and the pounding beat.

"I don't like this," Albus said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his book. "I'm going back to the castle."

"Are you mad?" James hissed, dragging the book away and throwing it into an anonymous corner. "Look, that girl over there has glasses. Go chat her up." Propelling his brother in the direction of the girl, James smoothly turned to the nearest blonde and began flirting. Lysander drifted towards a knot of girls with drink in hand.

Lorcan was sitting on a bar stool admiring the tattoos on the bartender's hands when a flash of gold crossed his vision. A girl was suddenly sitting beside him, a girl with moon-pale skin and long blonde hair, smiling and laughing and flirting a little with the bartender. She wore a tight black dress and Lorcan was still for a moment, knocking back his beer and appreciating the view.

"Well, knock me down!" the girl exclaimed. "Lorcan Scamander?" He blinked at the unnamed hot girl became Victoire Weasley, carrying clinking glasses of something bright green and alcoholic, scantily-clad and flushed from dancing.

"Victoire, didn't expect to you see here," he said, having to concentrate hard to pronounce the words correctly.

"You're drunk," she giggled, spilling cocktail as she leant across to steal a sip of his beer.

"Hey, tha's mine!" he exclaimed. "'S'not my fault, got ambushed by the beer."

Everything was fuzzy. He remembered green cocktails, Albus snogging ferociously with the bespectacled brunette, James leaving with a drunken blonde on each arm and Lysander kissing a pretty redhead.

He left with Victoire. As they reached the snowy street, Victoire lurched forward and threw up across his shoes. Thank goodness for the amount of alcohol they'd both consumed over the evening, or he would have been a lot angrier.

"Don't try any of your freaky Veela crap on me," he complained as she looked down at him with unfocused blue eyes. "I'm stronger than that."

She kissed him then, tasting of cocktails and whisky and drunkenness and he kissed her back. He knew he'd regret it in the morning when he woke up mysteriously naked next to an blonde demon, but in the heat of the moment he couldn't give a fuck.

When he woke up the next morning with a pounding head, he had to admit he had impeccable taste when drunk.

If hazy judgement.

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><p>giggles/ Many a relationship poor unfortunate Victoire has may start like this ;) By the way, there's a bit of an overload on Scamander twins coming up, so prepare yourself. I trust everyone loves that sexy pair too much to complain ;D

Credit to mew and mor, please don't fave without reviewing, yadda yadda yadda...


	10. spinning (lysandervictoire)

and i will try to fix you

chapter ten: spinning

Everything's spinning.

Spinning softly gold.

Laughing lips. Gentle fingers. Low voices. Glazed eyes. Heated glances. Complicated buckles. Loosened buttons. Discarded shirts.

Spinning softly gold.

Ecstatic groans. Frantic movement. Fervent begging. Flying hair. Long legs. Smooth skin. Satin sheets. Moaning repeatedly.

Spinning softly gold.

"Lysander."

_Spinning_

"Don't."

_Softly_

"Stop."

_Gold_.

"Please!"

And everything's spinning.

"Victoire."

Spinning softly gold.

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><p>Short, but I like it this way. Hope you readers out there aren't minding this Scamander spam too much! ;)<p>

Credit to mew and mor, please don't favourite without reviewing, thanks :)


	11. drowning (lorcanpadma)

and i will try to fix you

chapter eleven: drowning

I was drowning and you threw me a life belt.

I was missing my parents. Dead in Sweden, far away from lawyers and healers and family and friends.

I was missing my brother. Married off, touring the world, hitchhiking with Hugo's band and the heavily-pregnant Dominique.

I was missing my soul. The urge to create music. It was gone, beneath the dark soil and wilting flowers with my parents and never to return to me.

I was missing my feelings. There was nothing but numbness since my parents died, a longing to feel something, _anything_, pooling in the pit of my stomach.

I was missing a piece of myself. The raging yang to my sobering ying. The puzzle piece crafted to match mine. The angel to help me find passion and fury again.

You were my angel from the moment you descended that staircase, twenty years older, deliciously forbidden, the lady in red with flowers woven into your hair.

I was drowning and you threw me a lifebelt. You saved my life, and, in turn, I saved your heart, taking it for myself and allowing it to fly on gentle wings.

Padma Patil, would you consent to be my eternal valentine and take the ring I offer you?

Yours eternally,

_Lorcan Scamander._

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><p>Aw gawsh, I can't believe I just killed off Luna! I'm going to hold a minute's silence in her honour now.<p>

Credit to mew and mor, please don't favourite without reviewing, thanks :)


	12. home (lorcanparvati)

and i will try to fix you

chapter twelve: home

"Why does no one tell you love is this hard?" he asked the amber depths of the whisky glass. It yielded nothing but faint ripples across the flawless surface, reflecting a very much flawed face dominated by glistening brown eyes.

"There there, honey," the plump waitress reassured him, filling his glass again. "If love was easy, it wouldn't be so precious, now, would it?"

"But why don't adults ever tell you these things?" he raged, thumping the stained wooden table with his fist. "They don't tell you about the stress of job interviews that come to nothing, or having baby furniture repossessed when you can't afford to pay the bills, or trying to comfort a hysterical pregnant girlfriend, or how hard love is. It's all sunshine and butterflies and rainbows when you live with them and suddenly it's grey skies and overdue payments and mood swings."

"Okay, honey, I think you should show the lady back home how much you care about her," the waitress said, taking away his glass. "Buy her flowers, jewellery and cook for her! Massage her feet, kiss her every minute, tell her she's beautiful and serenade her with the kazoo. Bring a little fun and romance to your life!" Empowered, he stood up and ran from the pub, money in hand.

Alone in the big double bed, Parvati wiped another stray tear that rolled down her cheek and clutched the locket nestling in the hollow of her throat again. "Oh, Lorcan, come home soon," she whispered to the stars.

"Honey, I'm home!" a shout sounded. Shooting out of bed despite her cumbersome bump, Parvati rushed to Lorcan and hugged him.

"I got you these," he said bashfully, presenting her with a large bunch of daffodils. "I thought they might cheer up the house a bit." He paused. "I have a job interview tomorrow. I promise I will buy you all the finest things in the world."

"The finest thing in my world is right here in my arms," Parvati whispered tearfully, wrapping her arms around him and kissing the breath from his lungs. "I love you, Lorcan."

"I love you too," he finally admitted and they embraced right there.

They found home in each others' arms.

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><p>Aw, these two are so <em>kyoot<em>! I hope you think so too!

Credit to mew and mor, please don't favourite without reviewing, thanks :)


	13. master (lyandervoldemort)

and i will try to fix you

chapter thirteen: master

Lord Voldemort was required study for seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was the ultimate figurehead of what not to do.

Yet his history was fascinating. A dark twisted story with no happy ending, beginning with the doomed stone orphanage and ending with a single curse from a famous wand. The methods he employed to gain new recruits, his ideals, his aims, all were fascinating to a young Slytherin by the name of Lysander Scamander.

With a candle in hand and the open mind of a young man, Lysander spent hour upon hour on the uncomfortable seats the strait-laced librarian used for the rarely visited Restricted Section, reading everything he could lay his scarred hands on about Tom Marvolo Riddle.

There were numerous biographies with promising titles like _Rise of the Dark Master _or _Snakes, Legilimency and Unforgivable Curses _(quilled by a fellow naming himself as Wormtail) that turned out to be a simple venting device for the author. Even the Wormtail fellow ended with something resembling a suicide note and ranting about a woman named Luna.

Textbooks, heavy tomes layered with the dust of decades, were no help. The Dark Lord had, at the most, five chapters devoted to his rise, reign of terror, fall, rebirth and final death. His servants, the Death Eaters, could be found in prison records from Azkaban and the occasional mention in textbooks.

Finally he wrapped the green-and-silver scarf around your neck and left the school in the bleak midwinter, setting out for a dark moor far in the distance, beyond a veil of fog. He knelt by the crudely-hewn stone marker and traced the letters. _Here lies Tom Marvolo Riddle, cruel in life and weak in death, not missed_.

He pressed his lips against the cold stone in a kiss that would hopefully carry through the ages to the 'loveless' Dark Lord. The man had never been bereft of love, no matter what people said. He had the love and devotion of his servants, of his Death Eaters.

"Master," Lysander murmured against the gravestone of the greatest influence in his life. "I have found you. _I have come home_."

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><p>Phew, this must rank up there in the top five plain <em>weirdest<em> pairings mew and more have ever come up with! Yet I actually...kind of...liked it? :O

Credit to mew and mor, please don't favourite without reviewing, thanks :)


	14. fragrant (romildahagrid)

and i will try to fix you

chapter fourteen: fragrant

You tried to ensnare Harry Potter.

It didn't work out.

You tried to capture Ron Weasley.

It didn't work out.

You even sank so low as Neville Longbottom.

Even that didn't work out.

Face, it, darling, no matter how beautiful you are, it's your reputation as a cruel woman who steals men's hearts and breaks them that keeps you from ever holding on to those slippery creatures.

It's time to live up to the reputation rumours and gossip have crafted for you. This femme fatale with dark come-hither eyes, red lipstick smile and perfectly svelte figure.

Even if that means tossing shiny curls, blinking elderberry dark eyes, fluttering long curly eyelashes and rubbing fragrant skin against the blushing Care of Magical Creatures Professor.

And you don't even know his first name.

* * *

><p>Credit to Mew and Mor once more! :D<p>

Pretty weird, but it's self-improving to write outside your comfort zone, right?


	15. caress (teddyluna)

and i will try to fix you

chapter fifteen: caress

"Hello Teddy," she said dreamily, fixing carnations charmed pale grey into her hair.

"Why are you renewing your vows with Rolf?" he asked, pulling her gentle fingers into his and pulling the carnation from her tangled hair. "Please, Luna, come away with me."

She stared at him as he slowly ran a hand through her hair, gazing into her eyes, caressing her cheek and pulling her against him with unnecessary violence. His lips met hers and she melted into his touch, her hands working at the knot in his tie while his hands glided over the bare alabaster skin uncovered by the back of her dress.

"I can't," she murmured. "Rolf loves me and I love him."

She turned to leave, fastening a neat strip of lace around the bun collapsing at the base of her hair, weaving the charmed carnations into the style. Teddy watched her slowly walk away, to the red carpet and polished wooden pews where she would renew the sacred vows.

"No you don't," he murmured. "You love me. You kissed _me_."

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><p>Aw, Teddy's a cutie! Luna's just so awesome and they could be so <em>kyoot<em> together!


	16. light (teddyastoria)

and i will try to fix you

chapter sixteen: light

Light caressed her face as tenderly as a lover. Her dark curls, bound back by a vivid lime green ribbon, bounced as she trimmed a tall hedge into the shape of a poisonous snake, drawn back and ready to strike.

He watched her from between two sprawling oak trees, admiring the pale alabaster skin of her back exposed by the plunging back of her sleeveless shirt, the curves of her figure shown by the plain white cotton clinging to her, her legs that seemed to go on forever beneath a tight black skirt and her upturned smiling face against the greenery.

"I know you're there," she called softly. "You can't hide your hair, Theodore." He grinned and crossed the emerald lawn to take her in his arms.

"I missed you," he murmured, trailing kisses up her neck and stopping just short of her mouth.

"Draco can see us," she warned, already shivering with desire in his arms.

"If he can screw my girl, then I can screw his," he said, and kissed her. She slumped against him and everything was nothing but a blazing light of pulsing desire.

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><p>Right...let's blame this one on my recent overdose of Jilly Cooper novels and move on<p> 


	17. lipstick (charlieverity)

and i will try to fix you

chapter seventeen: lipstick

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley will see you now," Verity said, appearing out of George's back office suddenly smelling of cheap perfume and hairspray with crimson lipstick smudged hurriedly across her lips.

"She fancies you," George said with a mischievous grin as Charlie shoved the stiff door open. Charlie just rolled his eyes and slumped into a chair. The upholstered wood beneath him suddenly gave way and he plunged to the floor, landing painfully on his coccyx.

"This a new product?" he asked, getting up with as much dignity as he could muster. "Collapsing Chair?"

"Also around are the Silly Stool and That Bloody Bench!" George said with his salesman smile. "Get one, it'll deflect all those girls who hang about you like bees around a honey jar."

As Charlie left, Verity accosted him, neatly wrapping brown paper around a cardboard box emblazoned with _THE ALL-NEW COLLAPSING CHAIR_. She looked down at the knot of string and up at him.

"Would you like to go out for dinner with me, Verity?" he heard himself asking.

"Yes please," she said quickly. He spent the walk back to George's flat grinning and planning a thank you dinner for his brother.

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><p>Yayay, these two are just so bloody kyoot! :D<p>

Who liked George the matchmaker?


	18. stains (dracovictoire)

and i will try to fix you

chapter eighteen: stains

Victoire had always been a master of rinsing stains from clothes. Red wine, blackberry juice or mud, no matter what it was, she could get it out.

So when the handsome silver-haired Draco Malfoy came into Madam Malkin's with white dress robes stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood, the other workers referred him immediately to, "Victoire Weasley, the criminally beautiful blonde round the back."

Wearing the cream uniform with her hair pulled back and her eyes shining, Victoire presented a pretty picture. Draco Malfoy, handsome, silver-tongued, charismatic, talked to her in his smooth, low voice as she carefully rinsed his robes.

She found herself handing back his robes and accepting an invitation to dinner in a daze.

And when he kissed her, she knew that now she was stained.

Stained with the dooming touch of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

><p>Um...yeah...I have no idea why this was so evil. And I'm also so sorry that it's been...six months since I last updated. But here I go with the pairings again! :)<p>

Credit to Mew and Mor, please don't favourite without reviewing, thank you :)


	19. dirty (astoriadean)

and i will try to fix you

chapter nineteen: dirty

Astoria always loved plants. Flowers, shrubs, trees, herbs, even the weeds that her mother scowled at. Daisy chains adorned her wrists, neck, ankles, hair at age five, roses were placed behind her ear at age seven for her parents' tenth anniversary celebration, lilies graced her dark curls at age twelve when she snuck into the Yule Ball and danced with a handsome Durmstrang boy and petals of soot clung to her alabaster skin after the battle when she hid beneath emerald tapestries.

As the magical world was rebuilt from charred remains, she sank her fingers into rich soil and grew roses, rays of hope in the new world, pink and white and yellow, happy colours, bright colours to bring new hope as each day dawned. The daisies bloomed there, unwanted and crushed beneath heavy feet by the gardeners, but cherished by her, woven into long chains and hung around each wrist.

With dirt perpetually on her fingers and pressed beneath her nails, clinging to her clothes no matter what charms she performed, encrusting hidden strands of hair, she met a smart boy, a gentle boy, a smiling boy with wide lips and innocent eyes.

A boy she could make dirty with swirls of pink carved by nails into wanting flesh and sinful words pressed into skin as night swept them into her black caress.

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><p>Credit to Mew and Mor. And apparently I had forgotten the simple pleasure of writing drabbles.<p>

Please don't favourite without reviewing etc. etc. ;)


	20. sleep (seamusangelina)

**Sometimes, for reasons we cannot fathom, we become disassociated from a fandom. We start to think that people have forgotten about us - and yes, they probably have. But sometimes we have a wave of nostalgia, and we return and try to finish the projects which never were.**

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><p>Lifting the rag away from the wan face, she looks down at the blood stains blooming like petals across the white with a sense of detachment. The sky is fading, black into grey, and she listens to the ragged breathing of the wounded, listens for the background sound of the hearts beating, strong and forceful and desperate. Desperate for survival. For some way that perhaps this night won't take another away from them.<p>

She knows this one, the boy she's cleaning up, wiping the blood from the cut on his neck. He used to scream her name during Quidditch matches, grin encouragingly when she wheeled past, come running for pictures after their numerous victories. He was sweet. The girl he tried to carry into the wing died minutes later, her pretty face torn to shreds.

"Go to bed, dear," Madam Pomfrey says, untying the blood-stained apron from her waist and giving Angelina a smile that deepens the lines at the corners of her eyes. It's small, weak, wasted away from the night, but it's there. "No sense in torturing yourself over this. They're all stable."

She doesn't nod. Doesn't reply. Squashes the rag up and drops it into the full bucket, and looks down at the young boy lying in repose, as if a statue. Already sleeping.


	21. stars (daphnefredi)

People are like stars. Blazing across the sky, lighting up the night, spilling their silvery glow over the world. Sprawling beams across the grass, slanting up the dark stone of the tower. She waits, anxious, a strand of dark hair wrapped tight around her finger. She looks up, and she wishes. The door will swing open, the silver in his vibrant hair, shifting through the soft strands like her fingers itch to. He'll take her in his arms, sweep her away like a valiant knight on a noble stand.

She waits. The stars whisper, witchy words whipped by the wind. They whisper _he's not coming_ as her heart prays he's simply late. Twisting her hair into a neat bun, she conjures a piece of ribbon from the end of her wand and plays dress-up on herself. Make herself perfect, a little pretty doll for him.

And then he comes. God, he comes, freckles like constellations on his face, and when they kiss it's like a supernova. Blazing bright, filling the sky. Never coming down.


	22. circus (astoriafredi)

Circus tent hits the sky, peaked against the sun. The people shine, they glitter, they shimmer. They _shine_, bright colours and lithe limbs and blithe smiles, defying death as they float above the ground, feet delicate and smiles perfect. Staring up at them, with typical childlike wonder, she wants to be like them. Pretty long hair, pretty big eyes, pretty glitter against pretty skin.

She wants to be to acrobat. Careful and delicate and pretty, the soundtrack to her life cheers and gasps of shock and cries of joy when her feet touch the ground. They are the most important act, the most impressive.

He's just a clown. Pulling the rug out from under a professor's feet, cursing a door to scream insults, making her tie turn into a snake that curls malevolently around her neck, hissing dangerously. But she laughs when the staircase freezes beneath his wand, and flips across the gap with quick feet.

His eyes are round, and she bows mockingly. And he takes her hand, and she doesn't tear herself away. The tightrope teeters, and she falls.

No one is there to catch her.


	23. tear (lavenderlucius)

She stares at the gilt-edged mirror, running her fingers along the long pink rips in her once-pretty face. Her eyes are full of mist now, innocence and shine lost to the war. Her hair is still golden, twisted around her neck. Elegant. Trying to knit herself back together, to take a needle and stitch her skin, her bones, her _heart_.

Engagements parties make her pause, make that lump rise in her throat, familiar, burning. She watches the happy couple dance, staring at each other in that dizzying way, and she looks away. Her beauty is gone. How can she attract a man, with scars on her face and a curse in her blood? War stains her, pulls her to pieces, and she cannot understand where life will take her from here.

He's tall. Suave. Upright and strong, with shocks of silver in his pale hair. Too thin, face gaunt and eyes sunken with suffering despite his grand robes and the crest holding his cloak over his shoulder. When he touches her cheek, she feels the cool shock of his ring, black metal. Black like the sheets on his bed as she sprawls, gasping at his lips on her neck.

She leaves the next morning, stumbling through the grounds with bare feet, hair tangled, fingerprints on her skin. Her dress hangs around her in torn, tattered shreds, and her smirk is the most proud it's ever been.


	24. wisdom (daphnelucius)

Pearls of wisdom that she considers herself worthy of listening to come few and far between. Perhaps she never listened to the advice given by professors when her exams were close and nights were sleepless. Perhaps she never listened when her mother recommended arranging a betrothal when she was just thirteen, barely beginning to grow into a woman. Perhaps she ignored her friends when they begged her not to go into the fray on the night Voldemort was killed.

But she listens now, as her new brother-in-law laughs and confides his father's capabilities of seducing women so much younger than himself. She arranges herself on her stool, smiling winningly, and his eyes find hers. It sends warmth shivering up her spine, makes her smile become a smirk, and she leaves Draco behind with barely a glance.

He's three times her age - but that's alright. He's married - but that's not a problem. This is the wedding of his son and her sister - but it can't matter, not in a dark room where the only light is his pale eyes like twin moons in the gloom.

After all, he has so much wisdom to impart.


	25. envelope (arthurandromeda)

It arrives on his doorstep three days later. The applause from the graduation still echoing in his ears, new robes still shiny with hope and potential, the interview at the Ministry hanging before him like a ripe fruit for the taking. He can hear Molly humming in the kitchen, smiling as he passes, heart light with adoration for her.

Sealed with a familiar crest, black wax carefully crafted. He turns it over and over in his hands, then tucks it away in a box already filled with cards and notes and gifts from her. No sense hurting his fiancé mere days after their engagement.

Another comes three weeks after his wedding. His wife has gone to St. Mungo's, and he's alone as his fingertips trace the edges of the parchment, imagining it still warm from her hands. But he doesn't look.

One arrives after the birth of each of his children. Always addressed in the same familiar hand, soon no longer sealed with the crest of the family who burned her face from their tapestry. Briefly, his second son dates her daughter - but that doesn't work out. His life with his wife, his children, his collapsing house and his worthless job, is what he wants.

And then another comes, three weeks after the deaths. The _murders_. Molly's eyes are still vacant with grief, and when he takes this envelope, he opens it.

_Art - I need you. I've lost everything else in this war - my husband, my daughter, my son-in-law. One of my sisters is gone, my other to Azkaban for sympathies to Voldemort. Please, don't make me lose you too. I have to see you. I remain always yours - Andie._


	26. outside (lorcanscorpius)

His hatred for the outdoors was palpable, skittering like electricity across skin without freckles or redness, skin that didn't often see the tender touch of the sun. While his brother took quests with their mother, he sat inside with books or chess or television, refusing to even look at sunlight on the rolling hills or gentle rain sliding down the window panes or the snow that made everything gleam silver. It made him the black sheep of his family - the son of Rolf Scamander and Luna Lovegood, unable to stand the bite of fresh air or the whistle of the wind? _Inconceivable_.

It made him a pariah, at Hogwarts. If asked to Hogsmeade, he didn't linger in the winding streets, and was almost insufferable on dates - never one for romantic walks in the glistening snow. Outdoor study groups were an impossibility for him, and he often simply closeted himself on his bed and studied while the sun shone outside. One first year actually started a rumour that he was a vampire - but of course, that was utter nonsense. He was simply not a fan of the outdoors.

With skin so pale and hair so dark, untouched by sunlight, he was an imposing figure. But not to a Malfoy, someone already hated by the world for his parentage. Someone who couldn't go outside without being hissed or booed at, like some pantomime villain. They bonded over the inability to face the outdoors.

Their first kiss was not bathed in moonlight or walking in the snow or paddling barefoot in the lake beneath a warm sun. It was closed off from the world, on Lorcan's bed, over a pile of colour-coded Arithmancy notes.


	27. memories (dominiquedraco)

She reminds him of a girl he might never have met, and a song he can't quite remember, and a place he's not sure he's ever been to. She's fire and ice all at once, red hair flying and grey eyes probing, curious, prying for his secrets. She has chain links tattooed around her wrists, like the handcuffs that once rubbed his skin raw, and they move on her freckled skin, undulating like her hips to the beat of his heart.

He remembers when she touches him, remembers the dark walls that locked him in, the gates that creaked, the cold that clutched at his blood. He remembers screaming for his mother, like some lost child, screaming for help. He remembers how grateful he was the day he was freed, by a lovely blonde who was a new employee of magical law, newly pregnant and radiant. He remembers her name - Fleur. Familiar. From a time he'd forgotten.

And Dominique crawls over him, her eyes flashing wickedly, her hand on his bare chest, and he smiles up at her. "I'll always remember you," he says softly, and she smiles, freckled cheeks pink with pleasure.


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